The Hunger Games: Peeta's Point of View
by AllyTaylor
Summary: This is basically the rewrite of the original book in Peeta's POV. I am in no way taking credit for Suzanne Collins' amazing masterpiece that she created. I simply thought Peeta fans like me might like to hear it from his perspective.
1. Chapter 1

The hunger games- Petta Mellarks POV

Disclaimer- As all of you know I do NOT own this story. The amazing author: Suzanne Collins deserves full credit for this beautifully written book. However, I think I may deserve a teensy bit of recognition for writing it in Peeta's POV. ;)

Anyways,

Enjoy.

-AllyTaylor

Chapter 1- The tributes

I started my morning the very same as usual. Only it wasn't the same as any other carefree day. It was as far from "usual" as my days get. My demise. The one day of the year I wish I could just disappear. Reaping day.

I sighed, as I rolled out of bed and wiped the sleep from my eyes. I went to the kitchen to get a cup of water, and then walked sleepily back to my room. After a quick debate on whether to wash up, or just get dressed, I decided on the latter. Because in a few hours getting a bath wouldn't matter much anyways. I'd either be on a train to the capitol, in which case I wouldn't care, or I'd get to come back home and be able to wash up later.

I dressed in my very best clothes, and then sat on my bed, thinking. Like I do every year on reaping day. Hoping and praying that the giddy and ridiculous Effie Trinket does not pull my name out of her glass ball. Does not condemn me to my death. Hoping and praying that ignorant Effie does not pull Katniss's name either. The girl who doesn't know I exist. The girl I admire from a distance. Katniss Everdeen. I think of the day we met, five years ago. In the pouring rain. She was so close to death. She was giving up. But I helped her. And I wonder if she remembers. If she ever thinks about it. If I mean anything to her at all, or if I'm just the boy with the bread. I'm still engrossed in thought, when my father comes into my room. He's not a man a of many words. He smiled a small half-smile, and then gestured for me to follow him out to the kitchen. It must be time to go. He sat some bread in front of me, and a cup of hot tea.

"Eat up. Just in case." He murmured.

Just in case, I thought. In case what? In case I don't come home? In case this is my last meal with him ever? In case I'm the unlucky tribute from district 12? I threw these ideas around in my head, and suddenly lost any appetite that I had.

My brothers and my mother stumbled into the kitchen a few moments later. I glanced at the little clock above the stove. Time to go. We all walked to the center square of district 12. Where the reapings are always held. Attendance is mandatory, unless death is right around the corner, in which case there would be no point in going to the arena to fight. You see, what happens is there are twelve districts. There used to be thirteen, but that got blown off the map decades ago. Two tributes are chosen from every district. One boy, and one girl. That means if you are one of those unlucky people, you are fighting 23 others to the death. Only one person can survive.

How your name gets entered is simple: When you turn 12, your name is entered once. When you turn 13 your name is entered again, and so on. This happens until you're 18. But, here's the catch:

If you are starving, and desperate, you can enter your name as many times as you'd like, to get grain and oil to feed your family. Fortunately, I've never had to do this, so my name is only in there five times. But that doesn't stop me from being nervous. In that glass ball that Effie Trinket draws names from, there are five slips of paper all with "Peeta Mellark" written in my clumsy scrawl. Granted, there are thousands of slips in there so I have a pretty good chance of not being chosen. Still, my hands are shaking as Mayor Undersee reads his speech. It's the same exact one every year. He tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose out of the ashes of a place that was once called North America. He goes on and on about the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, a brutal war began for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining capitol, ringed by thirteen districts, which brought prosperity and peace to its people. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the capitol. Twelve districts were defeated. The thirteenth was annihilated. The treaty of treason gave us new laws to guarantee peace, and as our yearly reminder that the dark days must never be repeated, it gave us the hunger games.

The rules are simple: The twenty-four tributes (1 boy and 1 girl from every district) are stranded in an outdoor arena, and made to fight to the death. The capitol treats the hunger games as a sport. The last tribute standing will be bombarded with gifts, prizes, and money.

I listen as the mayor reads the list of past district 12 tributes that have won, otherwise called victors. In seventy-four years there have only been two people from my district to ever win. Only one is still alive today. His name is Haymitch Abernathy, and he is a filthy drunk. I watch closely, as he staggers around the stage struggling to stay upright. The mayor is clearly embarrassed, as all of this is being shown on television. Trying to get the cameras away from Haymitch, he introduces Effie Trinket, and then takes his seat.

Effie waltzes to the stage happily, as if this is a celebration, and swings her hot pink curls around. "Happy hunger games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She recites cheerfully. I roll my eyes at her annoying joyfulness, and catch a glimpse of Katniss, a few feet away. She's staring straight at Gale Hawthorne, and he's staring back. I'm not usually a jealous person, but when I see those two together, which is a lot, I get upset. Because, it's completely obvious he's head over heels for her, just like me. And as reality sets in, I know she can only choose one of us. And I know it won't be me.

Effie breaks me from my thought-process, as she trots to the big glass ball in the middle of the stage.

"Ladies first!" She announces. She sticks her hand in, and pulls out a neatly folded slip of paper. I draw in a collective breath, as does everybody else. The whole district is silent as Effie announces the tribute. _Please don't be Katniss,_ I mumble under my breath.

And it isn't.

It's her little sister.

**Primrose Everdeen.**


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews! :)

Here is chapter 2!

Disclaimer: I do not own the hunger games, or the idea, plot, characters, or anything else that has to do with the book. :)

I do own the keyboard on which I am re-writing the book in Peeta's POV. lol.

Chapter 2:

I've been through a lot in my life. A lot of painful things have happened. None of them prepared me for what happened next. I watched, partly in a daze, unable to speak or move. Prim walked by Katniss, headed for the stage. Katniss pushed her way through the crowd, and shoved Prim behind her. "I volunteer!" She screamed.

_No._ I thought, _Not her. Not Katniss._

My pleas were obviously useless. She had already volunteered. Volunteering is a rare thing for district 12 though, and everyone was clearly confused.

The rule is that once a tribute's name has been pulled from the ball, another eligible boy or girl may take their place. A boy if a boy's name has been read, or a girl if a girl's name has been read.

"Lovely!" Chirps Effie. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth than we, um... "

Even Effie Trinket is confused.

"What does it matter?" asks the mayor. He's looking at Katniss with such compassion, and sympathy.

"Let her come forward." He insists. Katniss's little sister, Prim, began screaming and crying. She wrapped her arms around Katniss's waist, and held on for dear life. "No Katniss, you can't go!" Prim screamed.

"Prim, let go." Katniss ordered. Prim wasn't letting go, and had no intention to. A few seconds later, Gale walks over and pulls Prim from her. He whispered something unintelligible to her, and then carried Prim back to her mother.

"Well, Bravo!" Gushes Effie. "That's the spirit! What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, now do we? Come on, everyone! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

I rolled my eyes, as I always do when Effie Trinket talks.

To my surprise, nobody starts clapping. Nobody. The square is completely silent. Silence conveys one message : We do **not **condone. We do **not **agree. All of this is wrong.

As I look around, people begin to touch their three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips, and then hold it out for Katniss. I do the same. It's an old, and rarely used gesture, sometimes seen at funerals. It means thanks. It means admiration. _It means goodbye to someone you love. _

About two seconds later, Haymitch comes stumbling across the stage towards Katniss. "Look at her. Look at this one!" he yells. He puts an arm around her shoulders. "I like her!" You can tell just by seeing the way her nose crinkles, that his breath isn't at all pleasant. "Lots of..." He struggles for a second to think of the right word. "Spunk!" He finishes. "More than you!" He says, addressing the people in the square. "More than you!" He screams louder, pointing straight into the camera. He's about to continue his rant, but stumbles off the stage, and onto the ground. Every camera is trained on him.

I glance at Katniss. She's staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. Haymitch is carried away on a stretcher, and Effie waltzes back up to the podium. "What an exciting day!" She chants. She makes a failed attempt at straightening her wig. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She grabs the glass ball, sticks her hand in and pulls out a white slip of paper. "_Please don't let it be me." _I whisper. She reads the name in a clear, loud voice. And guess what?

**It's me.**

I walked slowly up the stairs to the stage, and stood by Katniss. Effie asked for volunteers, and of course there were none. I had already known that fact, before she even asked.

The mayor read the Treaty of Treason, as he does every year after the volunteers are chosen. I wasn't hearing a word of it.

I glanced at Katniss, and I could tell she was thinking hard about something.

The mayor finished reading the Treaty of Treason, and motioned for Katniss and I to shake hands. I looked right into her eyes, and gave her hand a slight squeeze, to try and reassure her.

We turned back toward the crowd, and the anthem of Panem played.

The anthem ended, and we were marched through the front door of the justice building. Once we got inside, we were shown to individual rooms. The place where your family comes to say goodbye to you, before you leave. You get one hour.

I waited and waited.

Finally my mother showed up. She had tears streaming down her cheeks. I hugged her, and I started to cry as well.

"Mom, it's alright." I choked out.

She didn't have any words. We just hugged in silence, until the Peacekeepers came to take her away. Before she left she whispered in my ear, "Win, Peeta." I nodded, and she left.

She was the only one that even came to see me. After that, the Peacekeepers took me to the train station, which was swamped with reporters.

I stepped up onto the train.

Inside, the train is decorated fancily.

We were given our own chambers which included our own bedrooms, our own dressing areas, and our own bathrooms.

As I was checking everything out, Effie Trinket called me for dinner. I followed her through the corridor, and to an extremely large table.

Then, Effie went to collect Katniss.

I sat, and waited, wondering to myself why this ever had to happen to me... I was still thinking when Katniss and Effie walked in...

**What do ya'll think?**

**Review! I'll love you forever! :))**


	3. Chapter 3

Hello, lovelies! Thank-you for the wonderful reviews! Keep reviewing! Lol.

**Disclaimer- I do not own The Hunger Games. **

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie Trinket asked cheerily.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap. I muttered.

"Well... It has been an exhausting day." She replied.

Effie, and Katniss sat down at the table. The meal was served in courses.

Carrot soup, Fresh salad, Lamb chops with mashed potatoes, Cheese and fruit, and for dessert, Chocolate cake.

I was in the middle of stuffing my face, when Effie mutters, "At least you two have decent table manners. The pair of tributes last year ate everything with their fingers, like total savages. It completely upset my digestion."

I remembered back, to last year's tributes.

The reason they had no manners, was because they rarely got to eat.

I glanced over at Katniss, who was now shoveling food in her mouth with her hands, obviously offended by Effie's comments.

After supper, we watched the tribute drawings on television. I watched the two tributes from every other district, scoping out my competition.

Katniss and I were last, us being in district twelve.

At the end, they showed Haymitch falling of the stage in his drunkenness.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation." Effie mumbles.

I laughed. "He was drunk."

"He's drunk every year."

"Every day." Katniss chimed in.

This makes Effie angry.  
"Yes. How odd you too find it amusing. You know, your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!" She scolds.

As if on cue, Haymitch staggers through the door.

"Did I miss supper?" He asked, his words running together.

Before we could answer, he puked all over the carpet. To make matters even worse, he fell all in it.

"Laugh away!" Yells Effie, throwing her hands in the air, and running out of the room.

As Haymitch tries to stand up, and get out of his vomit, Katniss throws me a pleading look.

We each took one of his arms, and helped him to his feet.

"I tripped? Smells bad." Haymitch murmured, wiping his nose, and smearing his puke all over his face.

I sighed.

"Let's get you back to your room, and clean you up." I muttered.

Katniss helped me walk Haymitch back to his bedroom, and drag him to the shower.

I turned the water on.

"I'll take it from here." I told her, knowing if she stayed she would be uncomfortable.

"Alright." She answered. "I'll send one of the Capitol people to help you."  
I shook my head at her.

"No. I don't want them." I replied.

She nodded, and walked out of the room.

Washing Haymitch up was the most disgusting thing I have _ever_ had to do, and I have had to gut squirrels before.

Finally, I got him all cleaned up. I helped him out of the tub, and handed him a towel.

He dried off, and got in his pajamas.

"Uh.. Thanks." Haymitch muttered, as I helped him to his bed.

"Your welcome."

I walked out of his room, and to my own.

I laid down in my bed, thinking about everything going on back home.

I fell asleep shortly after that.

I slept through the night.

When morning came, I heard a knock at the door.

Before I could answer, Effie Trinket danced in.

I covered my face with a pillow, avoiding her.

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

I got up, threw some clothes on, and walked slowly to breakfast.

I walked in to find Haymitch laughing at an agitated Effie Trinket. Katniss was standing there watching too.

I picked up a roll.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch muttered.

Katniss and I did as he told us to, and we were all served with humongous plates of breakfast food, coffee, and hot chocolate.

I saw Katniss staring at her cup with a confused look on her face.

"They call it hot chocolate." I told her. "It's good."

She took a sip, tasting it, and then downed her whole cup.

I ate slowly, dipping my roll in my cup of hot chocolate.

I glimpsed at Katniss, who was finished eating, and sitting back in her chair.

Haymitch was drinking cranberry juice, which he was thinning with vodka when he thought we weren't looking.

Katniss stared at him for a second, as he took a sip of his cranberry vodka mixture.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." Katniss pointed out.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." Haymitch replied.

"That's very funny." I muttered, adding my two cents in.

Haymitch was still laughing, which infuriated me.

I slapped his glass out of his hand which shattered on the floor, spilling red all over the floor. "Only, not to us." I added.

Haymitch punched me in the face, knocking me out of my chair.

He turned back to grab his bottle of vodka, reaching for it. Katniss drove her knife into the table, missing his hand only by centimeters.

Haymitch sat back down.

"Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" He asked.

I picked myself up off the floor, and scooped up some ice for my jaw. I was about to apply it to my face, when Haymitch stopped me.

"No. Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena." said Haymitch.

"That's against the rules." I replied.

"Only if they catch you."

He turned towards Katniss.

"Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

She pulled the knife from the wooden table, and threw it across the room into the wall, lodging it between to panels.

"Stand over here. Both of you." He muttered, pointing to a spot in the center of the room.

He circled around us, looking at us from every direction.

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

He tapped his foot on floor for a few seconds, thinking.

"All right. I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I will stay sober enough to help you."

"Fine." I agreed.

"So help us." Katniss started. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the cornucopia for someone-" Haymitch stopped her, before she could finish.

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You aren't going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But-" Katniss began.

"No buts. Don't resist." Haymitch tells her.

He grabbed his vodka, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Katniss and I stood in silence, waiting for the train to stop; wondering what was waiting for us at the station...

**What do you think? Review? It makes me smile. :))**


	4. Chapter 4

For Lauren. Thanks for inspiring me to write again, and let my inner creativeness out. Without the push your review gave me, I wouldn't have written anymore for a long time. So really, truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank-you. I haven't written in a long while, because my great-grandmother unexpectedly passed in February. I was beginning to think my creative passion went with her. Really, she's the one who gave it to me. So, even though I have said it twice, and it is getting redundant… THANKYOU!

My prep team is peppy, loud, annoying, and ever so slightly demeaning. Still I sat, unmoving, exactly as Haymitch instructed. Vesta, Ophelia, and Dermot waxed my face free of hair. Except my eyebrows of course. But what little facial hair I had been growing is now gone. Apparently, body hair in any form is a negative thing here. On women especially. Vesta, a middle-aged woman, with wavy pink hair that stretches to her waist, and eyes the same color, has been polishing me for over an hour. Suddenly, I think of Katniss, and automatically feel sorry for her. She must have it ten times worse. My hands, which just yesterday, were scarred from years of baking, are now brand new again. My whole body is smooth, and clear of any imperfections. I seriously don't get the point of this though. The whole process of being groomed for slaughter is just despicable. After I'm completely washed, waxed, and polished, Vesta leaves the brightly lit room to call my stylist.

My eyes immediately scan for an exit, until I remember there is no running from this. I wouldn't get far in the Capitol anyways. My stylist enters the room, carrying a few bags that no doubt contain things for me that I do not want. How is she supposed to make me look good, when she can't even make herself look good? Her orange hair sticks out all over in a slightly messy disarray. The orange fades into a blazing red closer to the ends, reminding me of flames. She has a few hints of black through her bangs. Her face is overdone, as most stylists are. Her eyebrows have been drawn on in bright red, matching the ends of her hair. Her eye shadow is a shiny, glistening gold. Her blush is orange and applied heavily. Her lips are slightly sparkly, and the color of blood. Her eyelashes are way too long to ever be considered natural. I'm amazed she can even see. From the way she walks, in a silly prance not quite capitol like, she probably can't. Her nails are lengthy, and obnoxious-looking like the rest of her. She looks a bit scary and very avant-garde, but some of the other stylists are far worse. I'll never understand the Capitol's definition of beauty. She smiles at me tentatively, revealing two rows of perfect, gleaming white teeth. Which, after thorough examination, may be the only thing normal about her. She walks towards me, and plants herself in the leather chair across from me.

"Hi! I'm Portia, your stylist!" She beams, in a child-like soprano voice dripping with capitol accents.

"Peeta." I tell her, holding out my hand politely. She shakes it, and settles back down into her chair. We sit silent for a moment.

"I remember you from the last games." I note. It took me a few minutes to make this connection, because last year she was thin in the extremes, with hair black as pitch, and very dark make-up centered around the drab coal theme her and her partner used for last year's tributes. I sigh, as I realize Katniss and I are going to look ridiculous, just as the tributes from district twelve always do. But, I guess there isn't much you can do when your theme is Coal.

"Yes, I had district twelve last year, too." She explains, with a less than pleased look on her odd looking face. "My partner and I fashioned last year's outfits, which you probably remember."

The displeased look on her face tells me she hopes I do not remember. Probably because last year's outfits were a joke. The tributes wore overalls covered in what was meant to look like coal dust, over black underclothes. They had hard-shell hats, with lamps attached, and bulky boots that were impossible to walk in. Those outfits would have been completely unflattering on even the most attractive person in the world. At least they weren't indecent. The tributes from our district usually are. Maybe because the stylists are hoping to gain the audience's attention, but their ideas usually just flop. One year our tributes were completely naked and covered in a fine black powder to represent coal dust.

"Mostly, those outfits were my partner, Armand's ideas. He had already had the clothes made by the time the games came around, so I let him take over. But this year, I have a new partner, and the outfits we came up with are fabulous, trust me. No stylist from twelve has ever used this idea before. You and Katniss will be completely unique." She tells me, probably noticing the look I had on my face while thinking about the past outfits. "Are you hungry?" She asks.

Before I can even say no, Portia presses a tiny red button, on the side of the table I hadn't noticed. Suddenly lunch appears before us, from somewhere below the table. I stare baffled at the meal laid out in front of me. How pampered these capitol citizens are. How easy it must be to press one little button, and get fed. I can just imagine the look on Katniss's face if she is seeing this right now with her stylist. Seeing how pampered they all are always sets her off.

A few flower- shaped rolls catch my eye. They look soft and fluffy. Not like any bread we make back home. I allow myself to glance at the other dishes. Chicken with oranges on top of grain. Peas and onions, and pudding I've never seen before, the color of honey. I imagine it taste like it too.

I look at Portia, who has already filled her plate up. She gestures to the china plates and expensive silverware laid to my right, expecting me to do the same. I fold my arms tightly across my chest, uninterested and a little ill at the thought of all of this. The games, the clothes, all of the polishing, the rich food they give us to make us gain weight for the arena. All of it is beyond contempt; despicable. Portia shrugs at me and continues to eat. After a few minutes, she takes a sip of water, and begins talking again.

"About your costume…" She trails off.

"Yes?" I ask, honestly curious now.

"I assume, with you being a baker and all, you aren't afraid of fire?" She grins at me. Her question takes me off guard. She presses the button on the table and the food disappears in a flash. "I'll be right back." She tells me, as she briskly walks out of the room.

A few minutes later she brings in what I can only guess is my costume for the opening ceremonies. After a while, I'm dressed in a black unitard that hugs my entire body tightly. I'm wearing shiny, polished black boots, and a dramatic cape made of many different hues of yellow, red, and orange. The headpiece is just as spectacular. Portia explains to me the cape and headpiece will be lit on fire as I arrive at the ceremony. She tells me it's a synthetic flame, but I'm still not entirely convinced. Katniss finally shows up, with her stylist, Cinna, who looks completely normal, and her prep team who look completely capitol, like Portia. Katniss is dressed in an outfit nearly identical to mine, though hers flatters her a lot more.

We're taken down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is enormous. Everybody is shuffling around, adding final touches to their outfits, as they load into their chariots which are pulled by teams of horses. Our horses are coal black. Portia and Cinna guide Katniss and I into our chariot, perfecting us as they go along, murmuring in muted voices to each other. Katniss seems uneasy.

"What do you think of the fire?" She whispers, after the stylists leave. I don't want to admit it, but that part sort of freaks me out. Knowing I could combust at any given moment isn't exactly a comforting feeling.

"I'll rip off your cape, if you rip off mine." I tell her. Hoping that if the situation actually arises, she won't just let me burn.

She seems to calm down a little bit. "Deal…I know we promised Haymitch we'd do whatever they say, but I don't really think he considered this angle."

"Where is Haymitch?" I wonder, thinking maybe if I could explain to him how ludicrous our stylists ideas are, that maybe he'd step in and take control. "Isn't he supposed to protect us?" I ask, still scanning the small crowd of people gathered behind us. He isn't there.

"With all of that alcohol in him, it is probably not advisable to have him around an open flame."

I laugh. Really laugh for the first time since the reaping, and Katniss joins in. Just then, the opening music begins to play, as loud as they can get it. Doors open wide, and District one's chariot rolls out, pulled by snow white horses. Those tributes are dressed in silver tunics, and spray painted silver. District one produces the Capitol's many luxuries, which explains the bedazzled tunics they adorn. The crowd goes wild as they get glimpses of the sparkly tributes.

District two follows, then three and so on… And, before I know it, Cinna and Portia appear holding torches. "Here we go then…" Cinna murmurs. And then, before we can protest, or run, or even react at all, we're lit on fire. Katniss gasps, her face a mask of horror. Mine probably looks similar. I'm about to stop, drop, and roll, before I remember Katniss and I had a deal. As I reach out to tear her cape off, I notice that it IS on fire, but nothing is burning. And the fire isn't spreading. It must be safe and synthetic, just as Portia promised. Cinna gawks at us.

"It works." He says, relieved. He lightly lifts up Katniss's chin so that he's looking directly into her eyes. It irritates me a little bit. "Remember, head high. Smile. They're going to love you!" He tells her, encouragingly. Well, I can't argue with that. Who doesn't love Katniss?

Cinna steps off our chariot, and backs up slowly. He looks as though he just remembered something vital. He shouts to us, but the music is too loud to hear clearly. He yells louder, and gestures. For us to hold hands, I realize.

Katniss looks towards us. "What is he saying?" She asks.

"I think he said for us to hold hands." I answer, innocently. I grab her hand, and then glance at a pleased looking Cinna. He nods ever so slightly, and sticks his thumbs up. Our chariot pulls through the extra wide door.

The crowd looks amazed by our outfits and begins cheering loudly, screaming, and whistling over the music. "District twelve!" They chant.

Katniss squeezes my hand tighter, and starts blowing kisses at the crowd of people. They go absolutely nuts, and throw flowers at her from every direction. They shout our names over the pounding music. They didn't bother to find anyone else's names on the screen, which means we must be a huge hit. Portia was right. Our costumes are utterly unique, and definitely attracting the kind of attention needed to get us sponsors for the games. Sponsors mean we have a chance at winning. Winning means we live. I'm ecstatic until I'm reminded again that only one of us can win. Out of twenty-four. And the odds have not been in my favor of late.

Katniss catches a falling red rose, and blows the giver a kiss. Almost everyone's hand reaches up to catch it at the same time. Everyone shouts her name. Everyone wants her kisses.

As we enter the center circle she starts to release my hand. Whether it's because she doesn't feel unstable anymore, or because she's confident now, or just because she's afraid she's been clutching it too tightly, I don't know. I cling to her hand, like it's a life source.

"No, don't let go of me." I tell her, pathetically. "Please, I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay." Is her only response.

All twelve chariots sit around the city circle now that we've arrived. We pull right up to the president's mansion, as the music slowly fades out. The president welcomes us from his balcony. He's small, thin, and fragile-looking, with a puff of cloud-white hair on his head. Our chariot parades around one last time, and then heads into the training center.

As the doors close, our prep teams run up and greet us, but they're all talking loudly, and all at the same time, so what they're saying is indecipherable. The other tributes are throwing dirty looks our way, no doubt in fits of jealousy. Cinna and Portia extinguish our flames.

Katniss lets go of my stiff hand, and I massage it, as she does hers.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a bit shaky there." I tell her.

"It didn't show. I'm sure no one noticed." She encourages.

She doesn't notice the effects she had on those people.

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often. They suit you." I say, grinning at her, shyly.

And then she does what I don't expect.

She stands on her tiptoes, and kisses my cheek. Right on my bruise.

She's always been my weakness, and in that one moment I feel like crumbling. Because it hits me full force all over again. The feeling of losing someone. Because honestly, I know it's coming. Either I'm dead, or she is. But either way I lose her. The nightmares torment me endlessly through the night…

For any confusion about Peeta's prep team… He does not have the same prep team as Katniss. They have two separate teams, though the names of the three people in his team are not mentioned.

More will come soon. And remember to review. They brighten up my days, and make me work faster.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own THG, or any of the characters. I do however own my creativeness, which maybe someday will get me somewhere.

Charlie- Yes I did see the trailer! I'm so pumped for March. Lol. It's gonna be great!

The Training Center has a tower specifically designed for the different District's tributes and their teams. This is our new home. Each district gets an entire floor to themselves.

Effie Trinket leads us around wherever we need to go, all the time, like an obnoxious babysitter. She's excited that she finally has a team of tributes that were a big hit with the audience in the Capitol. She's complimented us non-stop since we got back. I don't really mind her too much though. Even though she sometimes insults us indirectly, it's usually innocent, and in good spirits. She has a child-like quality that is hard to overlook.

Effie knows everybody, and has been trying to talk us up, earning us sponsors. I try hard to listen as she tells us yet another story about what she said to someone in the Capitol.

"I've been very mysterious." She tells us, clearly proud of herself, and the way she's handled things. "Haymitch hasn't told me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district."

There she goes again with the harmless insults that make her sound even more shallow. Especially when the Capitol is most barbaric of all. They're the ones who came up with the hunger games. They're the ones who send twenty-four innocent children into an arena every year, hoping for a good show. Knowing that only one will survive. Knowing that back in the districts, twenty-three families will be mourning a loss; trying so desperately to fill a void that can't be filled. It will all be the Capitol's fault. They even enjoy watching the tributes hack each other up.

Effie continues her story. "Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But, I said, and this is very clever of me, I said, "Well, if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls!"

Effie grins at us so enthusiastically, that we have no choice but to smile back, and compliment her great work. And her totally false cleverness. Coal doesn't turn to pearls, but if I told her that it would probably just end up upsetting her. Coal doesn't turn into anything, it just keeps you warm. Graphite can be pressed into diamonds, which is probably what confused her, but that still wouldn't apply to us, because District twelve doesn't mine graphite. Thirteen did, decades ago, before they were obliterated. I just hope the people she has been talking to all day are as naïve as her.

"Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that." Marvelous, I think to myself, considering we haven't even laid eyes on him since we arrived here. He's probably laid up drunk somewhere. Effie must notice the hint of panic on my face. "Don't worry," she says. "I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary."

I don't doubt her.

My room is bigger than any room I've ever seen. Bigger than any house I've ever seen, and filled with high-tech things I have no idea how to use. The shower has a large panel with hundreds of options you can choose from, that adjust different things, like water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, etc. The closet has a similar control panel. So do the windows. There's a menu on the desk beside me, with tons of entrees to pick from, and a microphone to order into.

I'm staring out the window at the enormous city around me, when Effie Trinket knocks on my door. She's calling me to dinner.

After I get to the dining room, where Cinna and Portia already sit waiting, Effie leaves to go retrieve Katniss. As we wait, Cinna leads me over to the balcony to look out at the town around me.

"Amazing isn't it?" He asks. And it is. All the lights illuminating the pastel- colored city are breathtaking. Or would be if this was an enjoyable place. Effie and Katniss walk in while Cinna and I are still admiring the city below us.

We all sit down and wait for Haymitch to arrive, who has apparently decided to make an appearance tonight.

A boy about my age dressed all in white, brings out a platter that holds crystal glasses of red wine. He doesn't say anything, just holds out glasses to everyone. I decline mine, but as I look to my left, I see Katniss is drinking hers. Wonder what has gotten into her.

Haymitch walks in as dinner is being served. To my surprise, he looks clean and sober. He accepts the wine just as everyone else does. The servers bring dish after dish. Each one looks better than the last, and each one tastes better than anything I've ever had before.

The servers come and go throughout the meal, each dressed in the same white clothes. None of them ever say anything. Everyone is talking about our interview outfits, when a server puts a cake on the table, and sets it on fire. The flames flicker and then go out in less than a minute.

"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" Katniss asks, slurring the word alcohol. She must be feeling that wine right about now. "That's the last thing I want." Yes, definitely feeling it. She must not drink often then, if ever, if she can't even handle one glass. I don't either, but I see how much it takes for other people to get drunk, and it's usually more than that. She glances up at the server.

"I know you!" Katniss says.

The server is a young red-headed girl, with porcelain skin and defined features. She looks gloomy and hasn't smiled at all in the time I've seen her. The girl looks terrified at Katniss's recognition of her, and she quickly shakes her head from side to side in denial.

Eight pairs of eyes all train on Katniss at exactly the same time.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an avox?" asks Effie, startled. "The very thought."

"What's an avox?" Katniss wonders, which secretly, I'm wondering too.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," says Haymitch. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

"Even if you did, you aren't to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order." Effie adds. "Of course you don't really know her."

Obviously, Katniss does know her. From where, I have absolutely no idea. I have never seen the girl before, so it must not be from school. She's not from District twelve at all. That means wherever Katniss encountered this girl was somewhere she was not supposed to be, doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing. Probably hunting in the woods. Which is forbidden.

Everyone is still staring at her. "No, I guess not. I just…" She trips over her own words, contemplating an explanation. She knows she volunteered to much information that could get her in serious trouble, and struggles to find the words that will take it back.

I need to help her. I don't know why, I just do. Watching her dig a hole and throw herself in just isn't something I want to sit around and witness. Without even thinking anything through, lies just pour out of me, to cover for her.

I snap my fingers, pulling everyone's attention from her and over to me, momentarily.

"Delly Cartwright. That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then, I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." I tell everyone. Delly Cartwright looks nothing like this avox girl. I could sooner pass for the girl, but Delly is the first person who came to mind, and so she'll have to do.

"Of course." Says Katniss, playing along with me. "That's who I was thinking of. Must be the hair." She grasps at my lie, knowing it's probably the only thing keeping her out of trouble now. Knowing an avox doesn't exactly seem like it's smiled upon here.

"Something about the eyes, too." I add.

Everybody relaxes back into their seats, and picks up their forks again.

"Oh, well. If that's all it is." Cinna murmurs. "And yes, the cake does have alcohol, but all of it has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut."

We eat the celebration cake, and then all sit around the large television to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies. Some of the other tributes looked fabulous, but nobody shined like we did. We will not be forgotten anytime soon.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch.

"Cinna's" Portia replies.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice." Haymitch compliments.

I hadn't thought about it like that, but I guess the hand holding was as memorable to the audience as our costumes were.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast, and I'll tell you how I want you to play it." Haymitch tells us. "Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

Katniss and I walk down to our rooms together. I lean against her door.

"So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." I'm trying to pull an explanation out of her. As to why I had to cover for her earlier. I want to know who the traitor-girl really is, and how Katniss knows her. She hesitates, not quite sure if it's safe to talk about here. I'm not so sure either.

"Have you been on the roof yet?" She shakes her head no. "Cinna showed me. You can see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud though."

"Can we just go up?" she asks.

"Sure." I say. "Come on." She follows as I lead her up a flight of stairs, and to the roof. We walk to the very edge and look down at the street below us.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here. Weren't they worried some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?"

"What did he say?" She asks, curiously.

"You can't. I hold my hand out over the edge. It throws my hand back with a zapping sound, as it electrocutes me. Not enough to do any damage, or even blister. Just enough to sting momentarily.

"Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof." I say.

"Always worried about our safety. Do you think they're watching us now?" She wonders.

"Maybe. Come see the garden." Nobody will be able to hear us there, even if we are being filmed. As long as we speak quietly. I sit down on a bench, and stare at her, waiting for her to begin.

She sits down beside me.

"We were hunting in the woods one day. We were hiding, waiting for game." She whispers.

"You and your father?" I ask.

"Me and my friend. Gale. Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at the same time. All except one. Like it was warning us about something. That's when we saw her. I'm positive it was the same girl. She had a boy with her. Their clothes were tattered. They looked as if they hadn't slept in days. They were running, as if their lives depended on it." She tells me frantically.

I wait for the rest of the story.

"The hovercraft appeared silently. One moment the sky was empty, and the next, it was there. A net dropped down, and carried the girl up. They shot a spear through the boy, and then hauled him up too. He was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. And then the hovercraft vanished. And the birds began to sing again."

"Did they see you?" I ask her.

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock."

I can tell there is something that she isn't telling me. Something that she doesn't want me to know, or something she isn't comfortable with sharing, but I don't press the issue further.

"You're shivering." I tell her. I take my jacket off, and wrap it around her. She sticks her arms through the sleeves, which are very baggy on her. "They were from here?" I ask, as I button her up in it. She just nods. "Where do you think they were going?" I wonder.

"I don't know. Why would they want to leave here?" she asks me.

"I'd leave here." I say, a little too loudly. I have to look around to make sure nobody heard. I laugh nervously. "I'd go home now if they let me. But, you have to admit, the food's prime." I tell her, loud enough for any camera to pick up over the wind chimes. Another cover up. Now I just sound scared, as any tribute may be. "It's getting chilly." I tell her. "We better go in." As we walk, I change the subject.

"Your friend Gale, he was the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" I ask.

"Yeah. Do you know him?"

"Not really." I admit. "I hear girls talking about him a lot. I figured he was your cousin. You favor each other." I say, hoping he is her cousin, but knowing I'd never be that lucky.

"We aren't related." She says too quickly, just as I had suspected. But, the way she says it tells me she must get that a lot, and that it irritates her. Which leads me to believe that she feels something for him. Which… almost hurts. Which does hurt. I just nod, not knowing what to say to her now. I decide to try for more information. Maybe they were just friends, and hunting partners. Maybe.

"Did he come to say good-bye to you?" I ask.

"Yes." She answers, scrutinizing my face. I keep my expression in check. "So did your father. He brought me cookies."

Doesn't surprise me. Katniss is one of his favorite people. He's always thankful for the meat she brings us after her hunting trips.

"Really?" I say, raising my eyebrows, pretending to be shocked. "Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a house full of boys." I say. "He knew your mother when they were kids." Loved your mother, I think silently.

The look on her face says she sees right through me. If only there was something to see.

"Oh yes. She grew up in town." Says Katniss.

When we reach her door, she hands me back my coat. "See you in the morning." She tells me.

"See you." I reply, and I walk to my room without another word.

Review :) And I'm always up for constructive criticism. Also, don't be afraid to make suggestions, if you happen to have a brilliant idea. More soon!


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